


Don't You Forget About Me

by bry0psida



Series: 12 Days Of Harringrove [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bry0psida/pseuds/bry0psida
Summary: Steve doesn't want to be left behind.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Series: 12 Days Of Harringrove [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580533
Comments: 2
Kudos: 158





	Don't You Forget About Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Simple Minds song.
> 
> Prompt: “Don’t tell me you’re not cold. You’re freezing, come here.” Lost the prompt source!

Billy is stubborn. He’s not stupid. Though he is so stubborn he definitely gives the impression otherwise.

It’s his second winter in Hawkins. Steve thought he’d be used to the drop in temperature by now but no, he clings to the very vestiges of summer all through autumn, wears board shorts and cut offs and tank tops with goose pimples all over, still swims outside and never brings a jacket. He clings to autumn all through winter, too. No hat, no gloves, no scarf, no coats, just a thin jacket and thinner shirt. At least he’s stopped wearing open toe shoes.

Steve’s not sure why he does it. He owns hats and scarves and gloves and a thicker coat, Steve bought him more than one set of each. Billy refuses to wear all of them at once, might pair two if there’s snow. It’s the same with rain. He never carries an umbrella, his raincoat and other waterproof items are buried somewhere in the back of his dresser.

Honestly, Steve’s getting a little sick of it. Seeing Billy’s breath mist in the frigid air, watching him shiver, seeing the dusting of red on the tip of his nose and the flush on his cold hands, it’s pissing Steve off. Billy’s not always the best at taking care of himself, but it’s not that. It’s something else.

It occurs to Steve one snowy December morning he’s not actually asked Billy. So he does.

…

Billy slides into the beemer at the end of the school day, stiff and shivering and wearing nothing thicker than a denim jacket. He mashes his hands against the vents, takes them away periodically to rub them and spread the heat.

“Billy,” Steve says.

“Steve,” Billy says.

“Why do you dress like it’s the tail end of summer when it’s -1?”

Billy breathes into his hands, looks at Steve over his knuckles. “Don’t take this personally.” Steve arches a brow. “I don’t wanna get used to it.”

“Get used to what?”

“Being here,”

“In Hawkins?’

Billy nods. “I feel like if I acknowledge winter then I’ll remember I’m stuck here, and that makes me useless. I can’t be useless if I’m gonna get back to Cali.”

Steve doesn’t like this conversation. They haven’t touched on it much, but it’s a given that Billy’s going back to California the second it’s a viable option. Steve doesn’t think he’s invited.

“Oh,” is all he says in response, tries not to sound too hurt. Billy doesn’t owe him anything.

It’s a quiet drive home.

…

Steve doesn’t want to be left behind.

Hawkins is ok. It’s fine. It’s all Steve’s ever known. He didn’t have a problem with it till Billy Hargrove came into his life like a whirlwind and filled Steve’s head with big ideas about life in the city and the beach and gay bars.

Hawkins is no longer ok. Right now, it’s the best place Steve’s ever been ‘cause Billy’s here, and he’s breathed life into parts of Steve’s world he didn’t realise were dying or dead.

He doesn’t know how to ask, what Billy would even say. They don’t talk about it. Steve doesn’t know how to start that conversation, and he’s afraid of the outcome. He’s shitty at talking, Billy’s a lot better at it, much to Steve’s surprise. He’s pretty eloquent when he wants to be.

Steve’s more a show than tell kind of guy. So he does the first thing that comes to mind.

…

Steve’s leaning against the Camaro in nothing but jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. It’s Billy’s day to drive them to and from school.

Billy licks his lips, frowns a little at Steve as he’s approaching. “You forget your coat, or something?”

Steve hesitates for a moment, then nods. Weird. Billy unlocks the Camaro and they get in. He pulls out fast, drives quick so the engine heats up faster. He cranks up the heating, watches Steve press burning red knuckles against the vents.

Billy writes it off. Then it happens again the next day. And the next. Billy doesn’t know what the fuck’s wrong with him. Steve keeps saying he _just forgot, I’ll remember tomorrow_. Steve isn’t forgetful. He’s a worrier. He plans things down to the minute. The next time Billy's over at Steve’s place he makes sure to stash warm clothes in both their cars, so he doesn’t have an excuse.

It keeps happening.

Billy relented today, wore a hat and gloves, doesn’t like feeling the cold metal of his earring burn the lobe. Wants to be able to feel his fingers when he smokes.

“Steve, what is wrong with you?”  
Steve’s teeth are chattering. He’s shivering almost violently against the passenger door of Billy’s car. “N-n-nothing.”

“You gotta stop leaving all your crap in the backseat, you’re gonna start losing fingers at this rate.”

“‘M n-not c-cold,”

“Don’t tell me you’re not cold. You’re freezing, come here.” Billy slips off the hat, tugs it over Steve’s hair. Next are the gloves. Billy massages Steve’s fingers a little, gets the circulation going before tugging them on. Then his jacket, the denim one with the wool collar and fleece lining. It’s the biggest concession he’s willing to make for the weather.

He gets Steve in the car, cranks the heating all the way up and drives back to Steve’s house. Steve moves to get out of the car, Billy reaches across his lap and shuts the door.

“We need to talk,” Billy says. Steve’s throat bobs. Nervous.

“Yeah, we do.” Billy definitely wasn’t expecting that response.

He gestures at Steve. “What is this all about? Why are you suddenly forgetting it’s December everyday?”

“I don’t wanna get used to it,” Steve looks at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Get used to what?”

“The cold,”

“Steve, you live here. You’ve always lived here. You are used to it.” Steve just keeps looking at him. Then Billy remembers.

“You want- are you saying that-‘

“IwanttocomewithyoutoCalifornia,” Steve says it in a rush of breath, freezes up after, like he didn’t mean to be so direct.

“And that’s why you’ve been dressing…”

“Like you, yeah.”

Billy feels like an ass for not realising it sooner. Of course Steve wouldn’t just come out and say it without being pressed. He’s an idiot. He always wanted Steve to come, but he never asked. Steve never said he wanted to. Billy should’ve known better than to expect that. Steve’s been showing him that’s what he wants all along.

It’s quiet. Billy’s feeling a lot right now. Steve’s panicking. “If you don’t want me to come, that’s fine, like, you don’t owe me anything. I can do long distance. Or- or not, if you don’t want that. Maybe I should just-“

Billy interrupts. “Come with me.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You heard,”

Steve’s shock quickly gives way to euphoria. He leans across the car, eyes crinkling with his smile. Billy meets him halfway, holds on so tight.

“I’m an idiot,” He mumbles into Steve’s neck.

“Stubborn, too.” Steve mumbles back. He turns his head, pecks Billy on the top of his ear, his hair, his temple. “But you’re my stubborn idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on the post apocalyptic wasteland known as [Tumblr](https://bry0psidawrites.tumblr.com) and the open shooting range that is [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bryopsida)


End file.
